Fantine opened the envelope and pulled a piece of yellow legal paper folded in four from within. It was her mother’s handwriting, though she was surprised to see how deliberate it was—so carefully written. The letter was to her father. “In case anything happens to me…” it read like a will. She apologized for getting into the life, for continuing it even after they’d squared off what Jae owed. Wait. Owed? Fantine didn’t understand. Did her mother get involved in this life for Jae? Why didn’t he tell her? What the hell did they even owe anyone? The rest of the letter apologized for teaching Fantine the ropes and letting her get into the business.
“Miss Park?”
Fantine forgot she was on the phone. She almost dropped it. “Oh, crap. Sorry. Um, yes?”
“It looks like your father was signed out earlier today for an overnight visit.”
Fantine froze. “That’s impossible.” The anger began to melt away—gave in to a cold, sudden panic. “He’s supposed to be accompanied. Who signed him out?”
The shuffling of papers. A slow exhale of breath. “This is weird. It says you did.”
Fantine threw the phone across the room. The movement uncontrolled. She felt her cheeks burning as she ran through the possibilities of what might be happening to Jae at this moment, and then felt a renewed fury. Aleksei. He did this. This was his insurance; where his boldness came from. The only question was what she would do next. Fantine eyed the knives and Taser on the table.
No. She knew that path led to something worse for her father. Everything about this situation was stupid. The threats, the actions, and especially the plan. It went with the territory, though. Like her father told her, nobody became a criminal because they were smart. Sure, they got good at it, but repetition made masters of anyone—especially when it came to stealing. At the end of the day, people stole out of desperation or because it was easier than facing the real world with every other schmuck in the universe. Unfortunately, desperation never led to rational judgment.
Fantine gathered everything. The best course—in her eyes—was to go to Aleksei now and hash everything out. She could swear loyalty—promise to get the job done. Maybe she could negotiate with what she had left over from Empire City. It was a small comfort to have that backup, even though it hurt to even think about parting with that money but if it meant Jae lived, it would be worth it. All she demanded was her father brought back to where he belonged, safe and sound. Hell, the money didn’t matter.
Fantine gave herself one more go-over. She slipped each of her mother’s knives in a separate pocket. The smallest one went into her bra. If luck—and the prudishness of anyone she would have to stab—were on her side, she’d have a trump card. She had to laugh. The only time she’d ever used a knife for anything other than slicing food was to unscrew the back of something that needed batteries. There wasn’t much comfort in the idea of stabbing someone. Wasn’t much comfort about a damn thing. One more go over of the apartment to ensure she hadn’t forgotten anything important. With everything happening, she couldn’t shake the feeling something was missing—loose. She tried to breathe, to let herself believe that Jae was fine and that Aleksei was just doubling down to make sure she was on her best behavior. The man talked a big game, sure, but he couldn’t go that far, could he?
Fantine continued rationalizing how and why Aleksei would kidnap her father as she got out of the apartment and locked up. She heard the footsteps behind her too late. She felt cold metal press against the nape of her neck. The Twins? Maybe Pete—some kind of weird, last ditch triple cross. She reached to her belt where the largest of her knives was holstered. A hand wrapped in cloth came into her view. It clamped over her mouth and nose. Her eyes and sinuses stung, but the discomfort didn’t last long—not when the world was too busy swimming away.
11
Lemon-scented cleaner. It was the first thing that hit her when she came to. The scent was strong—right at that level where something goes beyond “smells like” and shifts into “reeks of.”
Fantine’s eyes stung. Her temples ached—an alternating beat pounded from the outside and into the very center of her head. The inside of her mouth was dry. She licked her lips—sandpaper against cracked skin. She blinked. Leaned forward. Her stomach let her know what a terrible idea that was by sending its contents onto the floor and over most of her sneakers. Now she regretted that treat from earlier.
“Chloroform will do that to you. For that, I apologize,” the voice was familiar, “I did not have a reason to believe you would come along willingly or without difficulty and it was a long trip.”
Fantine took a deep breath. Held back more vomit. She pulled her head up.
The nurse, Placido, smiled down on her. “You are a terrible pickpocket, you know?”
She laughed. “Fuck me.” Closed her eyes and settled into the hard, metal chair she was seated in. “At least you didn’t tie me up. That would have been some cartoon level crap.”
Placido chuckled. “I have a gun. A bullet to the leg will suffice if you try to run.”
“Why not a bullet to the head? If you’re pissed at me for bumping you, I figure you’d end this and not scoop me up from my apartment.”
Placido leaned towards her. With a look of disgust, he wiped the corners of Fantine’s mouth with the plastic gloves he was wearing, and quickly pulled them off into the nearby garbage. “My reasons are irrelevant, Miss Park. It is your reasons that interest me.” He stood straight and dragged another chair over. Seated himself in front of her. Slipped a .45 from his waistband and held it pointed at the ceiling. “I have so many questions.” He grinned. “A small word of warning before we begin—I also have an…anger management issue.”
That explained his intensity. Especially when she called him by name the first time they’d met. “I got no place to go, so shoot.” Fantine rolled her eyes. “Poor choice of words. How about, ask away?”
“I am glad you are being cooperative.” Placido undid the safety on the gun. “First, I would love to know who decided it would be wise to try to rob me.”
Fantine watched the gun. All this time and she couldn’t remember a moment when someone pulled one for the distinct purpose of hurting her. It may not have been pointed at her there and then, but it deflated something inside of her all the same. Her brain told her to fight—to rail against this new idiot in the ever-present parade of assholes that was her life. “There are a few of them.”
“Names. Please.” He brought his lips to her ear. “I recommend clarity and accuracy. You are not the only one in danger here.” Placido nodded to Fantine’s left.
She turned her head. There was a small, two-seater couch. Her father, Jae, sprawled out on it. She let out a yelp. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”
Placido shushed her. Placed his free hand on her thigh. “Easy, easy.” He gave her a smile. “Provide the information and he will be fine. I am not the type to hurt an enfeebled, old man.” He waved his gun at her, a “go on” gesture. “Please answer me. I am a man of my word.”
“Aleksei Uryevich” Fantine fought the tears. “He and his son, Peter. They put this together.”
Placido laughed. He pinched between his eyes with his fingers. “To steal what? We have no money here.”
“They were going to steal the, uh, product. The sperm.”